


Make Me

by BetweenTheStars



Series: The Filth Chronicles [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talking Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Implied Bottom Bucky Barnes, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Praise Kink, Restraints, Sparring, Top Bucky Barnes, Tumblr Prompt, and it's surprisingly hard to write believe it or not, how to get your super-soldier boyfriend to shut the fuck up: a guide, i mean kind of???, they are out in the open and lets be real here Steve gets off on that, yes i said that twice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenTheStars/pseuds/BetweenTheStars
Summary: He gets these memories, see, and he integrates them with the new information he's learned, but since day one, one thing has stuck:Steve, no matter the circumstance, no matter if he's bruised and bloody and about to become someone's mantle piece for making the worst choices and disguising them as 'patriotism', has the tendency to talk back.He's got a smart mouth, likes to make snide comments when he knows people are going to hear him. Never around Stark, God knows what he'd do if he found out Captain America was just as childish, but Bucky knows this, the wholeteamknows this. The worst part? It drives Bucky out of his goddamn mind.(Or: Steve has a smart mouth and Bucky knows exactly how to put it to good use.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: The Filth Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629916
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheRainbowSys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRainbowSys/gifts).



> Posting this a little after a month since getting this ask. This lovely person prompted exactly what I put in the summary and among other things, said some nice stuff that made me smile like a goof for the rest of the day. Sorry this took so long, but we all know how sidetracking this pandemic has been lately. ( _ ~~More on requests/prompts in the bottom notes, if you're interested!~~_ )
> 
> But other than that, I hope you enjoy— and to XxHolmesInHidingxX, I hope this was worth the wait! <3

The thing about losing your memory is that when you finally get it back, it's not all at once.

Things trickle in, such as names, dates, places, what the weather was like and sometimes, although rare, he’d remember things not even Steve could confirm. _It’s not much_ , he’s been telling himself, _but it’s something_ ; He’s already miles ahead of when he first started, and the progress he’s shown has been, as his therapist puts it, “ _astounding,_ ” to say the least. It's like one morning he'll be eating breakfast and straining to keep up with whatever story Steve is telling and the next, _he'll_ be the one telling the story with details and dialogue included. Steve always gets this proud smile on his face whenever Bucky does, and it makes Bucky feel whole again; makes him want to keep remembering for more than the benefit of taking back what big pieces HYDRA had stolen over the years; makes him want to find himself again, and then gain Steve’s happiness because of it. He gets these memories, see, and he integrates them with the new information he's learned, but since day one, one thing has stuck:

Steve, no matter the circumstance, no matter if he's bruised and bloody and about to become someone's mantle piece for making the worst choices and disguising them as 'patriotism', has the tendency to talk back.

He's got a smart mouth, likes to make snide comments when he knows people are going to hear him. Never around Stark, God knows what he'd do if he found out Captain America was just as childish, but Bucky knows this, the whole _team_ knows this. The worst part? It drives Bucky out of his goddamn mind.

See, it's not what he says that gets on his nerves— at least, not fully. Steve can talk his talk and walk his walk all day, doesn't mean Bucky's going to pop a blood vessel just from that, although he wouldn't be surprised considering their history together. It's not his smart-mouth comments, it's a whole list of things: how he carries himself when he says it, the timing, that stupid fucking grin on his face that Bucky wants to both punch bloody and kiss 'til either one of them can't breathe anymore. He's a tall, blond, two-hundred pound wall of muscle who internally jumps in joy whenever someone quips a command that he could easily respond to with the arsenal of back-talk he's got. _Make me_ has been making its rounds since they were kids.

Stop getting into fights.

_Make me._

Don't get out of bed when you're as sick as death.

_Make me._

And so on. Bucky thinks that at most, that phrase hit its peak before Steve ended up plunging the Valkyrie into the Arctic. Every single one of the grey hairs on Colonel Phillips' head, Bucky swears, was caused by Steve's actions and Steve's mouth and Steve's _everything_ , at this point. Steve could have simply _looked_ in the direction of their used-to-be-boss and another set of blackish hair would've gone grey, like they're the ghost of past, present, and future skipping out on the haunting part and peacing the fuck out of their lives, like Steve somehow deserves to be left alone after all of the headaches he's caused.

Bucky isn't the only one who's gotten sick of it, either.

It was a dark and rainy Saturday morning- and funnily enough, so was his mood, minus the raining part- when Sam invited him for some coffee. Just coffee, no catch, nothing to worry about, he'd been told. Of course, halfway into his caramel macchiato (he liked sweet things, sue him), Sam had brought up the topic of their most recent mission, the one where Steve, Natasha, and Bucky himself were held in an enemy base long enough to consider it interrogation by old school cameras and faceless cowardly bastards.

Anyways.

Sam had said that if it weren't for Steve and his blabbering trap, they wouldn't have been able to stall those HYDRA operatives for quite as long as they needed to escape. Bucky questioned what he meant by that, and Sam had explained with his expression all pinched, and his eyebrows all furrowed, "None of the history books I grew up on mentioned that Captain America has a certain fetish for pissing off the people around him. Now, I'm not sure if that's just a Steve Rogers thing—"

It was. Bucky told him as much.

" _But,_ " Sam had insisted, continuing where he broke off, "It's useful when it's not so goddamn annoying. Did you see him this morning? I asked for an extra cup of coffee 'cause Falcon can't fly when he's falling asleep midair and he said, and I quote, ' _make me._ '"

Bucky had figured as much. "Did he make the cup anyways?"

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding. He didn't look pissed, or even annoyed, but Bucky knew that look anywhere. It's the one that said: _I really wish I could complain about this guy, but he just so happens to be nice ninety-five percent of the time and also he's Captain Fucking America_. Bucky has the luxury of seeing past the title, however. Growing up with the punk will do that to him, and even if he didn't, even if they met at a later time- directly after Azzano, during the Winter Soldier days, whatever- even though Steve's always been the right side of a magnet to Bucky's inner compass, he would have been able to see past the government-instilled bullshit and know Steve for who he really is. And who he really is, is a trouble-making punk who likes to get on everybody’s last nerve just to see what they will do.

It's pushing boundaries, is what it is. Steve's always been all about the thrill, whether it be from danger (jumping out of airplanes), risk (almost getting caught with his hand down Bucky's open trousers), or just plain entertainment (literally anytime he's in a good mood), Steve will find a way to keep pushing and pushing and pushing. And one day, he's going to push enough to snap.

That day happens during a sparring session of theirs.

Now, Bucky's not much of a harsh guy. He pulls his punches and doesn't do anymore thigh headlocks— he's _careful_. He wants to avoid risk like a sane person and not have a chance at breaking somebody's bones without even meaning to or worse, damaging them to the point of ruining their career. He doesn't doubt that Steve could heal quickly and take a lot more than what Bucky's giving him, but every time he throws a punch and it lands hard enough to make Bucky's insides twist with sympathy, he gets those flashes of them up on the helicarriers, fighting each other and also for their lives, one half of Bucky screaming to pull him out of the water while the other half stares blankly at a man he once knew as a best friend. He gets those, and then he can't do it. He can't hit hard enough to win the match, hence what adds onto Steve's scoreboard and worse, that smug little part of him that's always proud to win against the former Winter Soldier. He knows, though, that if it were a whole different situation, Bucky would win every single time— _one_ time, to be exact. That's all it would take to kill him. Unfortunately for them, Bucky also doesn't have it in him to do that either.

It's after their third round of going at each other when Bucky calls the need for a break.

"What, am I tiring you out already, old man?" Steve taunts him, as Bucky crosses the gym floor on silent cat's feet and makes a beeline for the minifridge. He pulls out a bottle of some random sports drink and gulps down half before setting it aside, now balancing it on top of the weight rack.

"I'm older than you by a year," He finally says, wiping his mouth. "Now get your ass over here before you end up keeling over like a boat."

Steve rolls his eyes but does as he's told. The last half of the sports drink Bucky had chugged gets drained by Steve's own mouth. Helplessly, it's his adam's apple that Bucky's watching, rather than the crackling plastic in Steve's shovel of a hand. "You could have gotten your own, you know. Stark doesn't hire someone to stock up the place for nothin'."

"Yours tastes better," Steve counters breezily.

 _In what universe?_ Is what Bucky thinks. Instead, he says, "I thought you hated the aftertaste."

Steve gives him a half second of pause, his eyebrows raised. "You interrogating me?" He says, and Bucky, feeling defensive and butthurt over his most recent loss and not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing so, simply huffs a sigh and turns around.

"Shut up," Bucky mutters, heading towards the mat. There's a towel on the ground by the place they were sparring. He just barely refrains from grabbing it and strangling Steve. Instead, like a good, healthy, non-murderous person, Bucky picks it up off the ground and dabs at his forehead with the one part that's dry. The serum makes it hard to build up a sweat for either of them, but they've been going at it for a good two hours now. Though damp, Bucky's feeling nothing but pumped up and ready to go— physically, anyways. Mentally, he needs another nap, and one that’s preferably not for several years and in a cryo tube.

After a few more moments of lingering by the mini fridge, Steve comes over and joins him. As per usual training sessions, he’s got no shirt on. There’s condensation built up in the hollow of his throat, just barely gleaming off from the overhead bright fluorescent lights. Below the waist are dark blue shorts, _navy_ blue, that hug Steve’s hips like they’re personally trying to strangle his waist size into being even smaller than it already is. Compared to him, Bucky looks like some kind of an amateur. He’s personally clad in a tight, black compression shirt and matching shorts, although his are also black because he’s taking Stark’s comment about Hot Topic as a superhero to life, despite his other urge, which is to punch that goatee motherfucker in the face.

Bucky’s _nice_ now. He doesn’t kill (unless necessary), his threats are minimal, and when Steve’s being a smartass, instead of his old ways of dealing with it, which were to yell and/or leave Steve to stew in silence while Bucky goes out and hits up the nearest bar, he’s got new solutions to taking care of his frustration. One of those solutions involves the quick swipe he does with his leg, to which Steve sees coming far too late and ends up stumbling back from. And of course, with a mouth like his, the thing he says in response is:

“That's all you got?”

Bucky tightens his fists, making his jaw jump from where he’s clenching his teeth hard enough to hurt. But Steve just keeps on grinning, that Cheshire cat look not even dulling as he retaliates with his own set of punches and kicks. Bucky dodges them all except for one: Steve does this quick spin to get away from Bucky’s right hook and it lands him off to the side, standing straight and poised to hit back, which he does, _hard_. He hits Bucky’s left side, too, avoiding the metal because they both know how the last time went when someone connected their fist to that side.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t pretty.

Steve bounces back away while Bucky curses in pain. He’s all happy smiles and bright energy, hopping around like a playful puppy inspecting a street cat. Or like a bunny, a little Peter Rabbit getting himself into trouble. Bucky raises both fists once the white-hot ache goes away and growls as he meets Steve’s eyes; the wolf who found its prey, stalking little Red Riding Hood as they go on their merry way.

“You know, for being a trained assassin, you sure are rusty, Buck. Maybe it’s time you take some lessons from me,” Steve says, turning his body towards Bucky’s own to prevent him from circling around for an attack.

Blood boiling, Bucky grits out, “Eat a dick, Rogers.” And he knows the instant the words are out that he's made a very, _very_ big mistake. Bucky realizes far too late what he’s done when that telltale spark in Steve’s eyes lights up, his grin growing two sizes too big for anything that spells troublesome. He’s opening his mouth to say those goddamn words and Bucky can’t take it. Can’t think. He jumps forward, cutting Steve’s sentence off right as begins the words—

“ _Make me_.”

Steve’s back hits the mat, that goddamned laugh of his knocked right out of him. Bucky’s quick to take advantage of their position and gets him to roll over, onto his stomach, both of his struggling, flexing arms trapped behind his back and held down by the metal arm. Bucky shifts his grip while Steve’s gasping quiets down, and when he looks to make sure his hold isn’t actually going to break something, he notices tiny little indentations in the skin where the gaps between each metal plate are pressed against. Christ, that’s way hotter than it should be.

Hips on top of Steve’s ass, his thighs caged in by Bucky’s own, Steve finally gives up the fight and slumps against the mat, his sweaty cheek pressed to the surface so that he could turn his head and try to look behind him.

Bucky lowers himself down until a predatory grin of his own appears in Steve’s vision. For the first time in ages, Bucky feels a sense of victory and Steve, the bastard, looks nothing but pleased at himself. Pleased and sweaty, and also trying his very best to trick Bucky into a false sense of security by letting all his limbs go lax, laying against the mat like he _wants_ to be there, like it was planned from the start. And if it really was, if this was a trap Bucky had fallen foolishly into, then so be it. He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t be impressed.

Bucky threads his right hand into Steve’s hair and tugs up, so that Steve has to arch his neck in order to counteract the angle. Steve makes a small, whiny noise at the position and it makes Bucky’s heart beat double time. “I’m gonna flip you over,” He instructs lowly, squeezing Steve’s wrists together until he makes that sound again, “and really _make you_. You try ‘n get free and I swear to God, Rogers, you’ll end up regretting it. Understand?”

Steve grins some, and he can’t shake his head, can’t _move_ , but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Fighting the resistance, Bucky shoves his head down to the mat, being careful not to accidentally break Steve’s nose in the process, and growls out, “ _Understand?_ ”

He earns a muffled whimper in response, and Bucky decides that it’s all he’s ever going to get, considering Steve and his track record for being bratty and generally uncooperative. Following through with his plan, he rolls Steve over and makes sure to trap his wrists again, now holding them above his head, leaving him nothing but prone to Bucky’s wandering gaze. And oh, do they wander.

First and foremost, Steve is hard, his shorts tented. There’s a wet patch that’s staining the front of them and obscenely highlighting the outline of his dick through the fabric. Bucky wants to get his mouth on it, wet the fabric even more until the next stain he creates will be that of his own release. But today isn’t about Steve, and Bucky knows that he'd enjoy it too much, so he goes with his next best plan.

Taking the back of Steve’s head in hand, Bucky demands that he keeps it there while he works to get his own shorts off. Surprisingly enough, when he’s bare from the waist down and just barely pulling his shirt up and out of the way, Steve’s head is exactly where he left it. His eyes are dazed with anticipation and looking up at Bucky through a fan of lashes. Bucky takes his right thumb and traces the bottom lid of one eye, then trails down lower, to his lips, where he pushes the digit into Steve’s mouth and groans quietly when his tongue starts to lap at it. “Christ, baby, you got no goddamn right havin’ a mouth that sweet. No goddamn right,” Bucky breathes, watching in awe as Steve then wraps his lips around the thumb and sucks, giving Bucky a taste of what he’s aiming for.

Bucky shifts so that he’s a little more on his knees. He takes his thumb back, now cupping Steve’s jaw so that he’ll be able to feel his mouth work and his cheek bulge out from the head. It’s annoying, what Steve does to him when they’re in this context. Doesn’t matter if Bucky’s fuming out the ears from another one of Steve’s stupid desicions or smart-mouthed comments, once they get to this, with those dazed eyes focused up on him and Steve’s hot, wet mouth on any part of Bucky’s body, it’s then that all his anger dissapates and gets replaced with a low, coiling heat. That heat has been building for a while now; ever since he tackled Steve onto the mat and decided to use his words against him, it’s been brewing, slowly. Bucky’s not one to rush, but he is here after all, and Steve’s so very willing despite his fussing.

Finally, he decides they’ve both waited long enough and grabs a hold of his dick, grunting softly as he pumps once, twice, and then lightly smacks the head onto Steve’s tongue, which is stuck out past his pretty pink bottom lip, his mouth open and willing. Bucky’s gentle at first— Steve is a brat and he can take more than what he earns, but Bucky has tricks up his sleeves, too, and he plans on using them to their full extent.

First, he’s gentle. Then, he takes Steve by surprise and slides a hand down to his throat, squeezing until it makes the muscles in Steve’s throat contract around the five or so inches currently resting in his mouth. That wonderful sensation makes Bucky’s head spin. He moans hotly at the same time as he pushes in further, and not without a pause to make sure Steve catches his breath. Once he’s fully seated inside- hot, tight, wet walls gripping his cock and dragging along it deliciously- he removes his hand from Steve’s throat and instead returns it to his hair, to which he grips tightly, painful enough to make Steve whine out in a mixture of pain-pleasure. He’s just as messed up as Bucky is, and the pain only makes him harder, evident by the aborted thrust his hips give up into the air, only to no avail. Poor thing.

“Mm, I don’t think you deserve that just yet,” Bucky says lowly, a smirk on his lips. He’s gazing down at Steve with hunger evident in his eyes. He doesn’t need a mirror to see them— Steve’s already giving him enough of a reaction to know exactly what he’s seeing. “Hm?” Bucky then continues, as Steve tries and fails to muffle something around the obstruction in his airways. “What, you think differently? Look at you,” He croons, starting to pull back, still slow and gentle. “Christ, Steve, if your mouth wasn’t sin, you’d have never made it this far. Can’t believe no other fella decided to take use of all your pretty little holes.”

Steve whines around him, that dull flush from earlier now spreading out to his neck, and lower, where it creeps under the elastic of his tented shorts. Clearly, he disagrees, and clearly, Bucky really doesn’t give a flying fuck. He lingers when he’s fully out of Steve’s throat. The tip is still in his mouth, being playfully lapped at by the tip of Steve’s soft tongue. Bucky’s not much of a vocal guy, and he doesn’t want to give Steve the satisfaction. But it’s hard not to at least make a little noise, even if it is just short, gasped breaths or the occasional hum as Steve takes him back in deeper and deeper.

Just as Bucky’s about to blow his load, praises start falling from his mouth. It’s unstoppable; Steve’s lips and his tongue and his mouth are all working against Bucky, and that really goes to show just how gone he is on him, doesn’t it? That even though Steve gets on his every last nerve, Bucky still can’t last longer than an hour, or a few days at _most_ , without choosing to forget and forgive or going completely against his original idea, which was to gain a little payback for how Steve’s been acting lately. As it is, with almost a half an hour now without laying a single hand on Steve’s cock, Bucky thinks he’s succeeded on his goal, if only partially.

Steve makes a soft choking noise as Bucky seats himself fully, grinding against that sweetest, softest little spot at the back of his throat. His brows furrow up, and Bucky groans low and breathy as the muscles in Steve’s throat flare, working him towards an orgasm he’s been plummeting towards for a good five minutes now. But before he ends this far sooner than he’d like, Bucky eases up on his grip and allows Steve to take a few gulps of air, drinking it down like a man underwater. Only, he’s _moaning_ , too; it’s soft and definitely far more breathy than Bucky is himself, but he knows what he hears. Steve, with all the defiance in the world, and despite how utterly desperate he is to prove Bucky wrong, has fallen captive to his senses, swept like a tide on high-rising water into the need his body demands.

Bucky regards him with a look for a moment and gently cards his metal fingers through tufts of blond hair, no longer caring to hold Steve’s wrists pinned. Like he expected, once Steve realizes he’s free, his hands dart downwards. But to Bucky’s surprise, he doesn’t go for his own cock— no, he’s too much of a bastard like that, capitalizing on how well Bucky thinks he knows him. Instead, he gets a grip of both of Bucky’s hips and pulls him in and practically _inhales_ his dick down his throat, purposefully flexing the warm, wet heat around him until Bucky can do nothing more than cry out with the feeling.

“ _Christ_ , Steve-” He gasps, so close to tumbling over the edge. _But not yet_ ; he wants this to last, and he knows with certainty that if he doesn’t, Steve will only be more smug than he was when they had started. Really, he’s the biggest fucking bastard out there. Bucky _hates_ him; hates how unpredictable he is, hates his smile and his eyes and— “Yeah, like that, _Jesus yeah_. You’re so good, baby. So sweet, sweeter than sugar,” Bucky finds himself blabbering uncontrollably. He can’t even find it in himself to be mad that he’s going against his own thoughts. Fuck it, really. He’s _so close_ , and he’s nothing but deprived, _longing_ for that feel of Steve’s mouth swallowing him down as he spills his load.

Bucky comes with a loud moan of Steve’s name that makes the cock pressed up against his hand twitch almost violently. And— when did that get there? Bucky has all of five seconds to wonder where the hell his limbs have ended up when Steve surges back up and rolls them over, now on top of Bucky like _he’s_ the one who’s getting punished; like _he’s_ the one who’s helpless and needy, begging for an orgasm he’d just had— and really isn’t done with just yet.

Gasping in a sharp breath, Bucky’s lips meet Steve’s with a desperate fervor. He grips at the back of Steve’s head and shoves a thigh up between his legs, allowing Steve to grind down on him, making these short, soft, needy little noises as he does. Just pressing there roughly makes Steve’s jaw fall slack and eyes shut tightly, no longer able to keep up with the kiss. It doesn’t matter; Bucky has him wrapped around his shiny metal fingers one way or another, and he plans to keep it that way.

“Come on,” He murmurs, lips by Steve’s left ear, panting into it. “Come on, baby, go ahead. I’ve got ya; m’right here, Stevie, not going anywhere. Bet you’d look so pretty staining those little shorts, huh? You wanna be pretty for me? Wanna be my good boy?”

Steve’s next moan is more of a whimper than anything. It reverberates through Bucky's chest, where Steve's face presses against in an attempt to hide just how red he's gotten. "Buck," He calls out weakly, starting to tremble. He's close, and Bucky can see it, can _sense_ it, re-doubling his efforts to grind his thigh up and against Steve, though at this point it doesn't even do anything; Steve's already beaten him to it by rolling his hips down himself, stimulating his cock with as much friction his greedy hands could get.

In a last ditch effort to save the control he once had, Bucky shoves a hand in the center of Steve's chest, flips him back over, and tugs his shorts and undergarments off so quickly that Steve's cock smacks against his abdomen, smearing pre-cum there as it settles. The tip is practically _purple_ and it's drooling so much more than what the stain on his clothes had suggested. Bucky takes pity and pins Steve's hips down while he licks a fat stripe up from root to tip and swirls his tongue around the head like a lollipop, reveling in the taste. Steve's a mixture of heady and familiar on his tongue— even more so when Bucky's lips wrap around him and sink down, down, down, until his nose presses against the trimmed pubic hairs at the base of his pelvis. Bucky swallows around him and Steve arches up with a shocked cry as his taut muscles lock up. One hand flies to Bucky's hair and grips it so tight it _hurts_ , but pain is an odd thing, he’s learned, and so it only feels nothing but good.

Bucky does it again; swallowing up around him, teasing the underside and fremulem with his tongue, all the while Steve writhes and moans, choking down noises each time they get loud enough to draw attention. God knows what would happen if another Avenger happened to walk in on them. Bucky wouldn't stop, that's for sure, and he has a funny feeling that Steve wouldn't _let_ him, no matter how embarrassed he'll be about it later. No doubt when Stark gets ahold of the story and ribs them both for it for the rest of eternity.

" _Buck… Bucky,_ " Steve's whimpering out, as he climbs the peak higher and higher. "Bucky _oh_ \- oh _God, Buck, I’m gonna_ —" Steve's hips pump up once, twice, and still as he spills down Bucky's throat, leaving Bucky no other choice but to swallow it all down with a dirty moan. Satisfied and spent, Steve collapses back against the mat and takes in heaping, dragging breaths as he comes down from the high. Bucky does the same, only he has to wipe his mouth first before rolling over onto his back, squinting up at the brightly-lit ceiling as the dots clear from his vision. He's half-hard, but it's not a problem he's willing to take care of right now. Possibly even for the rest of the day, if he's willing to bet on it.

Bucky lolls his head to the side, at eye level with Steve's left hip. Bruises from his fingers are still on the skin. They're faded now, gone from a deep purple to a cornflower blue. Shame. He liked leaving his mark on Steve, even if they only lasted a handful of hours at most. He then decides that whatever fluids are currently stuck to his back- sweat, come, whatever it is- are going to get real uncomfortable and sticky soon, and if he’s not careful enough, the mat will possibly get ruined before they could rid of any evidence of what they’ve done.

A few more seconds of silence passes by, filled with nothing more than heavy, slowing breathing and the occasional squeak of the mat shifting beneath both of their enhanced bodies. Just as Bucky’s about to sit up and drag Steve to the showers, where maybe even another round could occur, knowing them and the serum’s ability to give zero fucks about a recovery period, smoldering heat fills up his chest. On its heels is a whole array of emotions, ranging from anger, disappointment, and in the very loud background of Bucky’s mind: disbelief. Once again, he has fallen ill to his original goals. Once again, Steve has come out victorious.

He doesn’t know whether or not he's surprised at this revelation. Of all the years they’d gone through these grappling “fights” to prove points and push past boundaries, not even once had Bucky won. He’s stupid for thinking otherwise; that just shutting Steve up would do the trick, simple as that.

But when he flips to his side and tilts his head up to scowl at what he assumed would be a very victorious look on Steve’s face, he’s met with… nothing. No smugness, no smirk, nothing of the sort that would openly display the cockiness Steve had shown earlier. If anything, Steve looks as if the thought of being awake eludes him. Surely, he can’t be _that_ exhausted, even though Bucky got a little more rougher than usual.

Instead of concern, he feels satisfied, knowing now with certainty that if there’s one way to get Steve speechless, then this was going to be it. “You’re awfully quiet,” He points out, tucking himself back into his shorts and then awkwardly extracting himself from the wet spot on the mat. Steve doesn’t move, but his eyes track Bucky’s every move, like maybe he’s expecting something else from him. Or whatever Bucky had said has yet to compute, which is the more likely of the two.

Bucky holds out a hand once he’s stood up. It’s the left, and Steve takes it gingerly into his own grasp, his hand slightly sweaty and nearly slipping as he pulls himself up, half sitting, half slumped against the floor. He groans.

“I think you have me beat,” Steve says, sounding miserable.

“Told you. Now get up and get your ass in the shower. We gotta clean up before anybody finds out we defiled Stark’s poor training room,” Bucky says, his victory now confirmed. His hand goes to Steve’s waist when he obediently stands, then slips around it, bracing him carefully and helping tug up those stained little shorts Steve will undoubtedly have to replace before the next time he decides to train. Bucky’s feeling overly smug at himself for the small wince Steve gives as he sets a hand on his own jaw. Probably inspecting the pain there; the ache that Bucky left him with.

And with a grumbled, halfhearted complaint from Steve and a bit of clumsy maneuvering, they make it to the showers, where the expected round two takes place and leaves Bucky limping by the time he gets dressed.

~☆~

It’s nearly a week later when it becomes obvious that Steve has changed his bratty ways. Though it’s relatively simple, Bucky likes keeping the mystery of how and why it occurred. Turns out, shutting Steve up on a semi-regular basis goes a long way when it comes to taming those smart-mouthed comments of his. And as for Bucky? Well, let’s just say a small limp in his step is a price he’s happy to pay over and over and over again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make my day! And if you, too, would like to prompt/request something for this pair, send in an ask on my [Tumblr!](https://ctrl-alt-bucky.tumblr.com/ask) Due to the specific jobs I work at, expect a few weeks to a month at _most_ before I post the completed request. COVID-19 is a bitch, and to anybody who's read this far: stay safe, wash your hands, and try not to go crazy during self-quarantine. <3


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